


Drafting a Hero

by Rosewhipped



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel Whump, Episode: s09e18 Meta Fiction, Gags, M/M, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Touching, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosewhipped/pseuds/Rosewhipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:<br/>So Metatron has Cas strapped in the chair, and gagged so he won't answer back or interrupt. And while he's telling Cas his fabulous story, his hands wander over Cas, and he gets quite worked up at the sounds Cas makes as he protests and struggles.</p><p>The only thing that stops him taking it even further are that a) he supposes the hero wouldn't rape the villain, and b) the angel coming in to tell Metatron that the Winchesters have captured Gadreel.</p><p>http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/106950.html?thread=40331974#t40331974</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drafting a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue directly from the episode, slightly altered since Castiel can't answer. I don't own it.

“What makes a story work?  Tonight I thought I’d tell you a little story.  Let _you_ decide,” Metatron said from the seat behind his desk, gesturing to the bound angel in front of him.

Gagged and tied to the chair, Castiel stared back, blue eyes puzzled as Metatron pushed himself up with a sigh and crossed to the record player, silencing the music. 

“That was my plan anyway,” Metatron said, walking towards him. “I guess that’s where my story failed.”

He trailed an unhurried hand down Castiel’s chest, reaching into his coat.   

“Ah, this is ‘The Curious Incident,’ eh, Inspector Gregory?”  Metatron grinned, pulling a thread from Castiel’s coat and showing it to him like it should mean something. 

Confusion registered on Castiel’s face and Metatron sounded annoyed at the apparent lack of understanding.

“Inspector Gregory.  Sherlock Holmes.  ‘ _Silver Blaze_?’”  

Nothing.  _Was there_ no one _he could have an intelligent conversation with?_

“You have been around since scaly things crawled out of the muck.  Would it have killed you to pick up a book, watch a movie?” 

With the gag in place, Castiel couldn’t respond.  It was his turn to look irritated.

Metatron sighed.

“Here.  I know it’s a bit of a retcon,” Metatron said, taking a step closer. “But it’s gonna make this whole conversation a lot easier.”  He pressed the pads of his fingers to Castiel’s forehead. 

Unable to hold back a brief scream as he was inundated with a sudden onslaught of knowledge, Castiel had his eyes closed, processing.  When he opened them, he realized Metatron was still close.  He raised his hand again, but this time he slowly caressed Castiel’s cheek, gripping his jaw tightly when the angel tried to duck away. 

Tilting Castiel’s face upwards, Metatron looked down at him.

“I just gave you every book, movie, and TV show I have consumed in the last couple of millennia.  So _now_ you understand that ‘the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.’”

Walking behind Castiel, Metatron kept his fingers dragging along his captive’s throat.

“Here are a few more lessons.” 

Metatron’s hand slid from the back of Castiel’s neck into his hair. 

“First rule of writer’s club: steal from the best.  Second rule?” 

He yanked Castiel’s hair, pulling his head back and breathing words right in his ear.

“Every hero needs a villain.” 

Eyeing the angel above him, Castiel tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but Metatron’s strong grip twisted more tightly.  Tears pricked in Castiel’s eyes and he mumbled something angry and unintelligible behind the gag, before Metatron released him. 

The hand stayed.

With his palm moving along Castiel’s shoulder and then brushing down his arm, Metatron moved in front of him again, easily avoiding Castiel’s attempts to shrug him off. 

Pulling a chair in front of Castiel, Metatron sat facing him.  He wondered what other reactions he could force from the stoic seraph.     

“You know—Hannah and her sisters—I set all that up.  Told Gadreel, ‘slaughter all those who will not join my army, but let one live, one… to tell the tale.’” 

The flare of anger in Castiel’s eyes lessened when Metatron laid both his hands on his knees.  Those baby blues were easy to read and Metatron chuckled at the bewilderment, sliding his hands forward as Castiel stiffened. 

“You’re supposed to _lead_ the angels, Castiel, because you are not the hero in this mess-terpiece.  You are the villain.  _I’m_ the hero,” he said, massaging circles on Castiel’s inner thighs with his thumbs.  

Castiel strained at his bonds, making a frustrated noise when he couldn’t gain leeway. 

“Do you know _why_ I didn’t kill you after I stole your grace?  I like you,” Metatron said, edging his hands into the apex of Castiel’s thighs, palming him through his pants.    

“Truly.  Among all God’s little windup toys, you were the only one with any _spunk._ ” 

Here Metatron pressed the heel of his hand against Castiel, grinning at the sharp look of disapproval he got. The weaker angel inhaled audibly through his nose, tensing at the unwanted attention.  Ignoring Castiel’s garbled objections, Metatron continued to grope his prisoner.  The scribe was surprised that Castiel’s struggling and indistinct sounds were stirring his own arousal. Having one of Heaven’s prominent and previously powerful angels helpless before him was evidently a turn on. 

“I left you human, because I was hoping you would live happily ever after, but you screwed that up too.  And now, uh, you leave me no choice.  I mean, if you want to get back on board, fine, but you’re gonna have to follow _my_ script,” Metatron insisted, appreciating the flush blossoming underneath Castiel’s gag and the small noises of protest lost in the fabric filling his mouth. 

Glancing at his own crotch, Metatron adjusted himself. He noticed Castiel tracking the movement and smiled lecherously.  Fingering Castiel’s belt buckle, Metatron considered a rewrite.  Surely, he could edit the story further in his favor, villains were supposed to get what they deserve, after all.  Though he should finish constructing the major plot points first.

“Lead the dumb, disenfranchised, rebellious angels against me, Castiel.  They will follow you and they’ll all die, but I’m gonna save a nice, warm seat up top for you.  You will be saved.”

Nothing in Castiel’s expression suggested obedient compliance.  The rebel angel was living up to his defiant reputation and Metatron didn’t appreciate the challenge.  He started on Castiel’s belt, spurred on by his renewed struggling and what sounded like his name, muffled and distorted.  Metatron paused. 

Castiel couldn’t speak now, but he’d be able to later.  It wouldn’t sound right if Castiel told this story, too much potential sympathy for the bad guy.  Metatron knew that the hero got a lot of things, usually a happy ending and often ‘the girl,’ but the hero doesn’t rape the villain.  Metatron grudgingly accepted this, sighing and removing his hands.             

Still, he needed Castiel to play his part. 

“Mm.  So, you’re gonna make me do the hard pitch, aren’t you?  Your stolen grace. It’s burning out.  It’s gonna burn _you_ out.  But I will give you an endless supply of rechargeable batteries.  Deal?”

It was a fair offer, but dangling it in front of Castiel didn’t alter his obstinate countenance one iota.  Frustrated, Metatron drummed his fingers on Castiel’s knee, thinking of loopholes. There were some twisted anti-heroes in fiction, maybe he could make that work in his favor.  The doors opened behind them and one of his minions came in. 

“Sorry to interrupt your… writing session, sir, but something’s happened.”

Metatron made a mental note to leave her out of his acknowledgments for failing to respect his creative process.

“What is it?”

“It’s Gadreel.”

Closing his eyes, Metatron sighed.  He suspected this particular plot twist involved the Winchesters.  He’d have to make it clear to them that they were only _minor_ characters, background characters really, and thus, easily written out of the script.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought. 
> 
> Have a great day! XD


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